Storm-Born
by SunnyBunny99
Summary: Three years following the Fall of Voldemort, Hogwarts is floundering with attendance at an all-time low, depressed students and stressed staff. The four Houses have turned into little more than splintered, backstabbing cliques. Dark Magic is still infecting the hearts and minds of wizards and witches everywhere. It is in this darkest of hours that Sybil Trelawney utters yet another
1. Prologue

Prologue

On Hallow's Eve in the year 2000, Sybil Trelawney collapsed face-first into her figgy pudding in front of the entire Great Hall. There was a commotion as students gasped and craned to see what was going on and fellow teachers leapt to help. But just as Minerva McGonagall's hand alighted on her shoulder, the Divination Professor slammed bolt upright again with her fists clenched, face pale and eyes rolled back into her head. She started to shake, saliva dribbling out of her slack mouth, eyes rolling madly, bangles and earrings jangling.

Her frizzy head snapped up, face tipped towards the cloudy ceiling, every vein and cord in her neck standing out against the sweaty skin just before she began to speak; her voice was metallic and raspy.

"Behold a child of wind and rain,

Come to save our world a time again.

The Houses four are great no more;

Yet all are one within her core.

The cowardly lion once more brave;

Woe to those who feel her rage.

Dullard eagles bound to earth;

With her wisdom Storm-Born shall give you second birth.

Lazy badgers asleep in the den;

Storm-Born shall inspire you to rise again.

Once-cunning snakes, their fangs now gone;

Storm-Born will bolster and cheer you on.

The greatest power yet untapped, within these walls she will be trapped.

Do not hinder the winged snake;

Let her fly, for Hogwarts' sake.

Strong as thunder, fierce as the scorching summer Sun,

Under her wings, the four shall become one."

Her monologue over, Sybil promptly collapsed again, leaving a roomful of bewildered students and staff to figure out what had just happened.

"...another prophecy, Albus?" McGonagall asked weakly, falling into a chair.

"From what you've told me, it seems so," the ex-Headmaster twinkled from his portrait on the far wall.

Minerva removed her spectacles and massaged the bridge of her nose. "You believe it, so soon after Potter? You-Know-Who only—"

"Voldemort, Minerva. He is dead; say his name and give his legacy no power," interjected Dumbledore sternly.

"Aye, Voldemort!" Minerva waved impatiently, "Voldemort fell only two years ago! And now ANOTHER prophecy? About a child, no less!"

Dumbledore mused for a moment. "This one seems far less cryptic," he said. "For starters, there's no evil overlord looming on the horizon, and Sybil spoke positively of this child and the effects she would have on the school." Then he added, more gently, "The prophecy wasn't wrong, was it? The school is in shambles. You could use some help."

"What is a child going to do?!" Minerva raged. "The Ministry is barely funding us anymore, staff is spread thin, everyone is overworked, students' grades are dismal, detentions are full every week and dropout rates are triple what they were before the war!"

"Harry grew up, Minerva," Albus reminded her. "And that boy was saving the school from his first year. The youth being taught here are the next few generations of the Wizarding World; who's to say they can't start helping at a young age?"

Minerva sat back, staring pensively into the dark, cold fireplace. "You have a point, but that was the Golden Trio; they were practically invincible!"

Albus smiled. "If this newest prophecy is to be believed, it sounds like this young lady will really pack a wallop; perhaps even more than Harry."

The Scotswoman snorted. "Potter resigned himself to a desk job for the fucking Ministry," she sneered bitterly. "Of all things, The Boy Who Lived is a paper-pusher. What a bloody waste of talent," she muttered, pouring a couple fingers of Firewhiskey and throwing it back. "He should've done like Longbottom and taken an apprenticeship. He'd be a good professor, you know; you saw how he led his little Army."

"Harry chose to be an Auror," said Dumbledore, "and you can't fault him. He spent his childhood shadowed by the fact that he was born to fight and defeat Voldemort. Now, it's only sensible that he would want to join a team to eradicate evil like that before it grows into what Riddle became."

Minerva took another shot. "Well, whoever this Storm-Born lass is, let's hope she gets here sooner rather than later. My sanity is hanging by a thread, and I know most of our meager staff feels the same way."

"I'm sure she'll drop out of the sky just when you need her most."

Had she been gifted with Divination of the future, Minerva might have laughed at how true Albus' words would come to be.


	2. one

The rain was coming down so hard that the windows of the Headmistress' office rattled; the thunder was louder than Minerva had ever heard it. This weather was bizarre—nothing had been forecasted on the Wizarding Wireless, and the past few weeks of April had been nothing but cloudless skies and fair breezes. Minerva frowned at the rattling window; the ruckus was distracting, and she had planning to do. She turned back to her parchment and poised her quill.

The lightning strike was so loud, so bright and so close that it stunned her for a few moments, and she swore she felt the castle shudder beneath her in the answering roar of thunder, which sent vibrations through her entire body and set her ears to ringing.

T_hat was damned close!_ Minerva panted, senses still reeling. _I had better go check on Hagrid, make sure his hut wasn't struck—_

Bewilderingly, it seemed as though that strike had been the grand finale of the storm; the howling wind and pounding rain calmed even as Minerva scuttled down the moving staircases and towards the Entrance Hall. The castle yielded to its Headmistress and the massive oaken double doors swung inward as she approached, giving her a glimpse of the cloudy skies outside—

—and the baby lying just outside the threshold.

Minerva's pulse stuttered and she halted, the blood freezing in her veins as the reality struck her like—well, like a clap of thunder.

A random violent storm; the baby—the prophecy back in October.

So this was it.

Swallowing back her trepidation, Minerva drew her wand and approached. The ground around the bundle was completely blackened, as if a raging fire had scorched the flagstones, but the swaddling of silver satin was clean and dry. Minerva knelt and scooped it up; the baby was completely silent, with wide eyes the color of an overcast winter sky, tawny skin and a shock of snow-white hair. The two stared at each other for a long minute and Minerva couldn't help feeling strangely vulnerable as the infant's pupils flickered back and forth across her face, drinking her in.

"Welcome to Hogwarts, little one," Minerva whispered at last. "Welcome home."

As if she'd understood the woman, the baby's focus drifted past her and settled on the castle turrets, flying the four House banners. A tiny furrow formed between her downy little eyebrows, and she yawned, closed her eyes and went to sleep in Minerva's arms.

_ Welcome to motherhood_, the Headmistress thought wryly, turning to re-enter the castle. _Seventy-three years old and you've finally got a baby_.

As soon as she passed the threshold of the castle Minerva felt it—the castle itself recognized the child as surely as it recognized her as Headmistress. The suits of armor straightened up as they walked by; the ghosts hovered just close enough to get a glimpse but did not speak; the staircases immediately formed a path straight to the Staff Lounge.

Minerva looked wonderingly down at the sleeping babe. How powerful was the latent magic within her to elicit such a response from the very ley lines of Hogwarts, which before now only Headmasters and -mistresses could tap into? She would need to consult Sybil, and soon; then again, the woman would likely go into fits of cryptic nonsense upon seeing the subject of her prophecy.

The lounge door opened and all heads immediately bobbed up, eyes widening at the sight of Minerva's burden.

"Wizards and witches," said Minerva, "it would seem we have a

new development."


	3. two

**AN: Thank you for the favorites, follows and reviews! As you can see, I've been absent for quite some time, but I'm back now. I'm not a very proactive person, so none of my fics are finished. I've decided to try to change that by switching up my style and writing shorter chapters rather than slaving over a long one and burning myself out on a single chapter. We'll see how well it works.**

**Please continue to read, review, favorite and follow! Love you all!**

**Ever Yours,**

**SunnyBunny99**

Chapter 2

After much fuss, the baby was named Kyrie. It seemed somehow fitting, using a synonym for a religious chant or invocation. As for a surname, well—that was more difficult.

"McGonagall," suggested Flitwick. "Minerva, you did find her, after all; she should have your name!"

"What stuff and nonsense!" the Scotswoman sputtered. "She's not my daughter, and it would be bizarre to say the least!"

"Storm-Born?" Pomona Sprout offered. "I mean, that is what the prophecy called her..."

Minerva gave her colleague a scathing glance. "Oh yes, I'm sure that won't make her a mockery by the other children at all."

"Something in a foreign language, then," a deep, raspy voice said from a shadowy corner, and everyone present looked startled.

"You have a suggestion, Severus?" Minerva asked, rocking the newly-named Kyrie gently. For her part, Kyrie was still completely still and silent, though her round gray eyes had fixed on the source of the voice. They continued tracking as the Head of Slytherin House stood up and stepped out of the shadows; tall and slim in ebony robes, Severus Snape looked more like a grim wraith than a man, especially now with the several bolts of silver shot through his long, oily black hair. Ever since Fawkes had seen fit to alight on his cold body in the Shrieking Shack and weep healing tears into the gaping throat wounds left by Nagini, Snape had changed; rather than keep the abrasive, sarcastic and bitter persona of before the war he had drawn into himself and become almost shy. He hardly spoke anymore—not that he was talkative before—but when he did he seemed distant, detached, and frigidly polite.

Now, though, it seemed as though something had finally piqued his interest, and Snape stepped closer to Minerva with his liquid dark eyes glittering in the firelight. Minerva looked down at Kyrie to see her watching Snape just as intently, and something was different.

Minerva gasped. "Her eyes!"

Snape tore his gaze away from the baby's to blink quizzically. "What?"

"Her eyes; they've changed color! Look! They were gray before, and now they're..."

"Violet," Severus finished in a hushed voice. "Quite a vivid shade, too. Interesting." He narrowed his eyes. "Pomona, come over here and get her attention; make her look at you and see if her eyes change color."

The Head of Hufflepuff bustled over and smiled warmly at the infant. "Hullo, little one!" she singsonged, drawing her wand. Kyrie's little head turned to look as Pomona made rainbow-colored bubbles spew from the tip of her wand. Everyone watched in wonder as the baby's face split into a gummy grin and her vividly violet irises shimmered into sky blue.

"Astounding!" breathed Flitwick.

"Perhaps the color is linked to emotion," mused Snape, gazing thoughtfully at Kyrie. "In this case, blue would be humor or happiness. Gray seems to be the normative default color."

"So what was that violet when she looked at you?" Minerva asked.

Snape shrugged airily. "As an infant, she does not have a full range of cognitive emotion, so I cannot say."

Kyrie looked at him again and her eyes immediately went back to violet. "Whatever it is, it's unique," said McGonagall.

As if uncomfortable under the baby's scrutiny, Snape drew his cloak tighter around himself, muttered something about needing to grade papers and swept out.

"Well, now we're one man down and we still need a surname," said McGonagall, sounding a bit disheartened.

"Severus suggested foreign languages; it's a good idea," said Flitwick. "We could use the word 'storm.' For example, "prahara" is Javanese for storm..."procella" is Latin, "audra" is Lithuanian..."

Minerva tucked the satin cloth more snugly around Kyrie's tiny body and settled into an armchair by the fire. Her colleagues clustered around, all eyes on the new arrival. Cold rain continued to spatter on the windows, the thunder a distant, rumbling lullaby over the craggy hilltops of the moorlands. Only the babe drifting into slumber knew that Nature was singing its welcome to her.

**AN: I'm holding a poll: which surname do you think I should use for Kyrie? If you have a different one from those I listed, please feel to suggest it!**


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